HELLGATE
by irishais
Summary: A false queen, a sisterhood of sorceresses, a princess with a dark secret, and one knight errant caught up in the center of it all. Medieval fantasy AU, Seifer/Quistis, Seifer/Fujin, Squall/Rinoa.
1. and miles to go

**HELLGATE**

-_irishais_-

_**One**__: ...and miles to go_

The rain thundered down with a vengeance, searing at his face, tiny fletchettes of water carving a thousand slices into his skin, painful enough that he expected the veil of rainwater over his eyes would soon tinge red with blood. The ride was too frantic to keep the hood of his cloak in place, his hair already plastered down flat to his scalp with the sheer volume of it. He pressed on, guiding his mount over the craggy trail, the horse gingerly picking over rocks and fallen branches. Soon, it would flatten out, and he would find himself on a pleasant, pressed path, but that was some distance away, too far away to be entirely comfortable about it.

The queen's words hissed in his ear— _bring me the Sisters_ — and it took more willpower than he possessed to not glance back over his shoulder to ensure that she was not following him, her red gown an open wound against the dead trail and the darkened sky.

She was _not_ behind him, bless the gods. All he saw was her palace, a black blight chained to the broken mountaintop, silhouetted against the sky with frantic bursts of lightning. As if he needed to be reminded of her power, this false queen with her magic laced in steel and venom.

If a temple were still open to him, he would have given all he had in their names, just for being able to make it down the mountain alive. But the temples had barred him; the only things on his side were the horse between his legs and sheer force of will.

Lightning crackled and burst, a brilliant flare in front of him. Odin danced sideways on the path, tossing his head in fright; Seifer pressed his heels against the horse's flanks, urging the grey warhorse forward.

"A long bath," he promised breathlessly, "and all the oats you can eat." The words tore away from his lips, lost to the wind, but the horse regained his footing and continued their frantic plunge down the mountainside. If luck was still with him, there would not be an armed escort waiting for him over the next rise— no one would be out in this weather, no one but a mad knight errant.

For once, luck was on his side, when they broke the crest of the rise and plunged downward to the smoother path, the grey stone giving way to dark green, to trees, to boldly colored flora drooping against the onslaught of the storm.

The rain lessened the farther along the path he rode, bringing Odin to a hair's breadth slower of a pace. The sprawling city of Deling was coming into view, the roads near to desolate from what he could make out. This observation was confirmed as Seifer came upon one of the city's smaller entrances, shut tight against the weather. He brought Odin up just scant feet short of the wrought iron gate.

A massive hooded figure hurried to the gate, reaching out with thick, tanned fingers to pick at the clasp.

"Hurry!" Seifer hissed, and the figure pulled open the lock, yanking open the gate just enough for man and mount to pass through. The gate was shut firmly behind them, the lock clanging back into place. The man bounded with long strides to keep up with Seifer's pace. He did not speak, and Seifer was grateful for that. The last thing he needed was a shouted announcement of his presence in town.

The pace at which they made their way through town was that of a snail's compared to the race down the mountain, and it took entirely too long to reach the Almasy manor, where a welcoming firelight flickered in one of the lower windows. The house was the last thing he could lay claim to, belonging to his father's father, the one thing that the royal family could not strip from him. He dismounted Odin, mud splashing up around him as he did so. The stable boy, a lad who would work for practically nothing as long as he had a roof over his head and food on the table, ran out to take Odin's reins.

"Clean him well, and feed him," Seifer instructed the boy, who nodded wide-eyed. A knight was a knight was a knight, errant or no, and there was still plenty of boasting room about working in such a notorious household for the boy to share with his friends. "And check his hooves; the last thing I need is for him to pull up lame," he added as a shouted afterthought.

His hooded companion trundled ahead of Seifer, pulling open the door for him. Seifer discarded his boots in the entry hall, and dumped his soaking cloak over the railing of the staircase. There was enough in his coffers to employ the stable boy and a woman who had worked for his father for years, and she would take care of the details. For now, he needed a rest, and a hot soak.

Raijin, his lifelong friend from days before Seifer had been inducted into the King's Guard, hung his cloak on the rack that was meant for these things, and looked uncomfortably at Seifer, before glancing back at the rack. There was a cloak there, a rich, supple leather dyed dark blue, one he found oddly familiar, although he couldn't quite place when he had seen that particular cloak last. Something was not right; he was instantly on the defensive, reaching for one of the daggers at his waist.

"Who is here?" he demanded.

Raijin shifted his weight. "You have a guest, sire," he said. "I only told him you was out at the pub," he added hurriedly. "He don't know nothin'."

Seifer glowered. The "something not right" was beginning to make sense, and he had a suspicion of who this caller could be. "Who?" he asked again.

"Ah—"

"We've met," a voice interrupted, cutting off Raijin's reply.

Seifer whirled, the dagger rocketing out of his hand before he had fully processed the voice. The speaker dodged, narrowly, as the blade drove an inch deep into the wall next to his head, shearing several strands of dark hair in the process.

His visitor snorted. "Do you greet all your guests as such?" he asked, grasping the dagger's hilt firmly and yanking it out of the wall. It left a ragged tear in the finish, and the King's Champion, and commander of the Royal Guard, hefted the blade in his hands, idly testing its weight.

"Leonhart," Seifer said coldly. "You aren't exactly an invited guest."

The Guard commander shrugged. "You should have let your man know, then, as he was the one who granted me entrance."

Seifer ignored the remark. "You have no license to my hospitality. Say what you need to, and then begone."

Lord Leonhart nodded once, crisply. "You have been summoned by Her Highness, the princess Quistis," he said. "For what, I know not, but she has requested your presence on the morrow before noon. I have been sent to carry your response to her."

Seifer snickered. "Has the great Sir Leonhart been reduced to nothing more than errand boy? What i_is_/i the world coming to?" Joking aside, the knight's words had not missed their mark: What the devil could the Princess Quistis want with him, after so long?

"She has indicated it to be a matter of some great importance," Leonhart added, as if Seifer had not spoken at all.

The clock on the wall chimed before Seifer could reply, and just because he could, he waited until the tenth chime had faded off before he replied. Unnecessary delays always drove Leonhart mad.

"...Fine, then," Seifer said. "If the princess wishes to speak to me, far be it from me to ignore a request from the royal family." He added a touch of sarcasm to the last bit, probably out of sheer force of habit. There was no love lost between them.

Leonhart regarded him with a long, calculating look, and tugged his gloves from his belt, drawing the black leather over his battle scarred hands. He pulled the deep blue cloak off of its hook and affixed it around his throat, and Seifer knew that on the back of it, a pair of wings in flight would be embroidered in purest white silk thread.

"I'll deliver your message, then," he acknowledged, and drew the hood of his cloak over his face before pulling open the heavy oak door to let himself out.

Seifer glared at Raijin, who didn't need any further instruction.

"I'll get your drink, boss," he said, and disappeared into the kitchen, while Seifer stalked up the stairs to his chamber, throwing open the door so that it slammed against the wall. Steam was already curling out from underneath the door to his bathing chamber, he noted. At least something was going right, because he had just realized that Leonhart had left with one of his better daggers.

Raijin nearly ran him down, carrying a glass of dark red wine, imported all the way from Trabia, the one luxury he had refused to compromise on. Seifer snatched the glass, and Raijin disappeared.

He took a deep draught of the wine, savoring the bold flavor against his tongue as he pulled open the door to the bathing room. Fujin was waiting for him, leaning back against the sloped back of the tub, her eyes closed even as she greeted him.

"Trick?" she asked, opening her eyes and turning her head toward him. One was normal, a pleasant dusky grey-blue color, and the other was stark white, a thin welt of red straight down its center, the old wound continuing up to mar the lid and brow above her eye. She had refused to share any details about what had ruined her sight, but her visions were always right; besides, she had proved her worth a thousand times over, and beyond. Seifer had no doubts that she would follow him to the grave.

Seifer shrugged, setting his goblet down on the vanity before he disrobed. Fujin slid up to the front of the tub, allowing him room to slip in behind her. She settled back against him, and Seifer drank another mouthful of wine as the hot water went to work quickly, undoing the knotted, abused muscles in his legs. Outside the heavy mottled-glass windows, the storm raged on.

"Like as not," he conceded. "But if I dismiss the princess, then we run the risk of having the whole game blasted open."

"Right." She closed her eyes again, sinking down into the water. Seifer ran his hand down the side of her face absently as he watched the storm through the thick glass panes. The princess did nothing without reason, playing the game of intrigue as well, and sometimes better, than he. She had been the reason for his exile from the Guard in the first place.

Thunder rattled the window; Fujin shifted against him, tugging his arm down across her body. It was surprisingly hard to give into the distraction that she offered; his mind still lingered on the red queen, and the potential trap that Lady Quistis had lying in wait for him to slip into.

Fujin turned, making sudden small waves in the warm water as she moved to straddle his lap. She slid her wet palms up his torso until she reached his face, pulling his gaze away from the storm and back toward her. He met her mismatched eyes.

Seifer drained the last of his wine and hurled the goblet away against the wall. A spray of fine crystalline shards cascaded across the floor as it shattered, and he leaned in to forcefully claim her lips with his own.


	2. the fool

_**Two**__: the fool_

The pale marble of the royal palace was gleaming in the late morning sun, washed clean in the rain. The grounds were another matter, and Seifer stalked along the path to the main hall, stepping over branches and debris, his boots crunching twigs as he walked.

He almost, _almost_ wished that he had left his deep grey leather vambrances back at the manor, considering the stifling heat that came in the aftermath of the storm. The ground was almost steaming as the sun advanced higher in the sky. The vambrances, however, bore the Almasy insignia, a pointed, sword-like red cross, etched in the leather, and he did not want to deny himself the satisfaction of how uncomfortable their appearance would make the princess, considering she had gifted them to him so long ago.

The guards flanking the doors glanced at him as he passed, but they did not bow, their backs ramrod straight. He could tell, though, that the automatic instinct was there, and that if it had been two years earlier, they would have bowed with no hesitation.

Of course, then, two years ago, he would have walked this path with the princess on his arm, and not have been summoned in the middle of the night by the commander of the Guard during a raging storm.

The main hall of the palace forked off to the left, and he took the narrower corridor. He doubted her Highness' habits had changed, especially on a day as warm as this.

The gate to the courtyard swung open easily, and the true heir to the Galbadian throne turned her gaze from a wall covered in ivy.

"I was wondering when you would show," Quistis said.

There was a moment of silence in which Seifer had to force his gaze away from her, send it an inch to the left. He directed his comment to the ivy behind her. "There was some trouble along the main road, some trees waiting to be moved. Your Highness," he added after a second. He may have hated the principle of royalty, but he was not an _idiot_.

"Ah." She turned fully, her elegant celadon gown whispering of silk as she moved. 'Trees. That is a new excuse."

He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. "It is the truth."

She smiled halfway, and he followed her eyes as she glanced as his forearms and then back up at him. Her smile disappeared.

"So," Seifer said after a long moment of silence. "You wished to speak with me."

Quistis nodded, turning away from him to seat herself on a low carved marble bench. She smoothed her skirts, swishing a bit of hem out of the dirt. "It is about my father."

He leaned back against the sun-warmed wall. "Well, that seems like the last thing you would wish to discuss with me."

"If it makes you feel any better, I had denied Sir Leonhart permission to attend this meeting," she snapped. "Does that soothe your ego?"

He snorted, but didn't reply, waiting for her to continue.

Quistis reached out and touched the rain-wilted petal of a bright blue flower— Seifer did not know, or care to know, the name of it.

"I wish to reenlist you into my service," she finally said, and snapped the blue flower's stem, drawing it to her nose and breathing deeply.

Well. This was certainly unexpected.

—

The halls of the palace were more desolate than Seifer had remembered, the guards in less supply than they had been before Ultimecia's invasion. It seemed backwards to him, that the remainder of the royal family would be so unguarded.

No wonder she had summoned him. Even if she hadn't explained anything to him yet, it was obvious that the royal family was in shambles. Ultimecia may have let them stay in the city, but it was terribly obvious who was wielding the real power around here.

Quistis led him down a narrow hall to a plain doorway, runes of silence and secret-keeping carved into its frame. She had tucked the blue flower into her elegant updo, and it took more effort than it should have to stop looking at it in contrast to her pale skin. She may have cast him out, but it did not mean that she was not still beautiful.

She turned the knob and entered before him, her skirts swishing as she walked. She did not have to explain the purpose of this tiny room— he already knew it well; he had used it a thousand times before, when Ultimecia had first pulled him under her thrall.

He shut and locked the door behind them. "Forgive me," he said, "but why the _devil_ should you want me back in your service?"

Quistis laughed once; the sound was not that of tinkling bells or chimes or anything musical. "Well, you did nearly have us all killed--"

Seifer nodded. "Aye, there was that."

"_But_," she continued, "you were under the influence of a false queen's spell. My father did not have you killed, and he could have, for being weak enough to follow her."

"I was not _weak_—" he started, advancing forward.

The princess glared at him, and Seifer stepped back, shaking his head.

"As I was saying, my father did not have you killed because I would not let him. I knew that we had not defeated her, and indeed we had not, as is evidenced by that monstrosity chained to our mountain." Quistis' eyes flicked to the window. "Have you never wondered why you are able to wander freely about the city? Why you are still allowed in pubs and public alike?"

Seifer shrugged. "I always assumed it was because of my dashing good looks."

"I will have you put in the stocks if you don't allow me to finish," Quistis told him sharply. "I am bringing you back into service because Sir Leonhart is being dispatched on an important mission, and I need someone I can trust to protect my father's life and my own. And frankly, if you were able to be pulled under, I have no faith that my remaining guard would be able to withstand five minutes in Ultimecia's thrall."

"So I am to be your temporary watch dog?" Seifer sneered, crossing his arms again as he leaned back against the wall.

Quistis shrugged elegantly. "In essence, yes. I may even reinstate your title."

He studied her for a long moment. "I don't suppose I have a choice in the matter, do I?"

"Not really, no."

His lips twisted into a smirk. "Woof, woof."

Quistis rolled her eyes, and headed for the door.

"Where are we going?" he asked idly.

The princess did not even glance at him. "To see my father."

—

The king sat in a faded wooden rocking chair and stared out at the Monterosa Plateau, the vast expanse stretching out way below the hill on which the palace rested. Whether or not he actually processed any of the brilliant colors that he was seeing was beyond Seifer, but even he could admit that the king had deteriorated from when Seifer had seen him last.

Quistis moved silently to her father's side, and crouched to look into his weathered, worn face. "Hello, Father," she murmured, smiling gently. She reached out and plucked the blue flower from her hair, lifting up King Cid's hands to tuck it in his fingers. "I brought you this."

Seifer stood back a great deal further than he probably needed to— he would not deny that this was perhaps the worst that he had caused. Ultimecia had gotten too near to the king for _one moment_, and she had leeched into his brain, sucking out everything and leaving him as nothing more than this husk. The king's health was something that even he did not mock.

"These flowers are Mother's favorite," the princess was saying quietly. "Remember when she planted them? None of the gardeners were allowed near them without her around." She looked back at Seifer and then returned her attention to her father, who had not moved a muscle. She leaned in close and whispered something.

The king's head moved a half of an inch to the left, his glazed eyes flicking in his direction, and Seifer stood his ground, bowing partway, stiffly.

"Only for a while," she said, her voice louder now, enough to carry back to him. Quistis stood, and leaned to press her lips against her father's forehead. "I will come see you later," she said to the hollow king.

Seifer let her walk ahead, and he cast one last glance back at King Cid. The old man had already turned his eyes back to the vista before him.

Seifer shook his head and stalked off after the princess, leaving the fragile king alone with his nursemaid and blue blossom clutched in pale, still hands. He missed the king's head turning slowly to follow his departure.


	3. the city of the dead

_**Three**__: the city of the dead_

Darkness fell on the country of Galbadia, and so it descended as well upon the Deling Palace.

Seifer sat in a luxurious chair, taking no comfort in it. The quarters that the princess had assigned him had a wide window that opened up on the mountains— he had a very, very good view of Ultimecia's bizarre castle.

As if he needed any more reminder.

He stood abruptly, walking toward the window to peer up at the structure. Ultimecia, the woman who appeared in a storm and called herself queen... had it really only been two years since she had perched herself upon the mountaintop?

He had a lot of difficulty remembering much from that time— they would come in flashes, like trying to see through a heavy veil of fog; the shapes were indistinct, vague abstracts. Of course, the metaphor had somewhat going against it-- the details would appear, sometimes, at the last possible moment, blindsiding him with their abrupt clarity, and disappearing before he knew what was going on.

That first meeting, when she descended upon the Deling Palace and swept away with half the guardsmen and the king's good health. The feeling he discovered that he would get when she looked at him, that she was worming her way inside his skull— she had called him very thick-headed, an impetuous little boy, and he had felt some great longing to prove her wrong, to swear his sword into her service, to bring the empire to lay at her feet.

A hazy memory of poring over maps in the Guard hall, rearranging the remaining security so that there were glaring holes, things that would stretch Leonhart too thin to fix in time.

A healer, looking down at him, pronouncing in her clear steady voice that the spell had weakened, that the Queen and kin had succeeded in locking up Ultimecia for the time being. That he would recover.

Quistis— the princess looking at him one last time before she dismissed him from her service. The feeling that something had been ripped out of his chest.

Had it truly been only two years since then?

Of course, it had been less than a full day since he had picked his way up the winding mountain paths, because he had to see her, had to speak to her. Something had called him there, her voice, in his dreams, for weeks.

iThe Sisters/i, she said. The royal mages.

iBring me the Sisters/i.

A servant had left a pitcher of thick wine and a plate of food. The princess' doing, like as not. Seifer snatched up the pitcher and splashed some carelessly in the provided glass, a few fingerfuls. This was not a night for it, no matter how much he wanted to down the entire thing and pretend that today had been something out of a poor dream.

The wine was familiar— rich, red. Trabian. He almost laughed; of course she would remember. She remembered everything.

She would probably tell him precious little. He drank deeply, and turned his gaze from the castle to the stars.

"Romantic," a voice groused from just below. Seifer whipped his attention down. Fujin stood on a narrow winding path that cut through one of the smaller gardens, saddlebags slung over her shoulder. She hurled them up the few feet to the window, and Seifer reached out to snatch them before they went tumbling back down. The bags were surprisingly heavy.

"I take it you got my note," he said, dropping the bags to lean out the window and help Fujin clamber over the sill. She primly dusted off the knees of her short pants.

"Subpar security," she noted. "Odin's in the stables. I wasn't even stopped."

"Wonderful." Seifer glanced out the window again. "I'll notify the princess."

Fujin shook her head, her pale hair falling into her eyes. "What does she want?"

"Too much. I'm to be her watchdog while Leonhart's away, off protecting some witches. At least, that's what I assume he's off doing, since it isn't like he can go more than ten seconds without his blushing bride anyway." Seifer pulled the window shut. Even without secret keeping wards, there was no sense in letting the whole town know what was going on. And Ultimecia had ears everywhere. That, he had learned the hard way. "The king is growing weaker," he added.

"Naturally?" Fujin asked. This was why Seifer kept her around-- she cut straight through the dissembling and went for the heart of the matter.

He shrugged. "I would very highly doubt it."

Fujin walked across to the small table with the wine, and picked up the pitcher. Seifer handed her his glass, and she refilled it, then drank it down almost as quickly. She filled it again time, and carried it to the comfortable chair that Seifer had vacated.

"Fujin—" he began, turning over an idea in his head. A flash of light streaked across the sky, a shooting star whose path he tracked before it disappeared beyond the horizon.

There was a clatter behind him, the sound of metal hitting polished wood, and he turned. The goblet had fallen out of Fujin's hand, and she stared blankly at the wall, her one good eye gone as blank as the other.

"What is it?" he demanded, crossing the room in two quick strides to kneel before her. "What do you see?"

Her voice, when she spoke, was distant, softer. "The king is dead," she whispered. "The Sisters gather in a place of darkness— the red queen... she holds the still beating heart of the last blood with claim to the throne..." Her hands lashed out, grabbing his forearms, gripping tightly. He could feel her fingers digging through the stiff leather of his vambrances. Her blank eyes locked on his. "The world ends in fire, and the knights kneel at her feet."

"Fujin..."

She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, her gaze was normal. She blinked, looked down at her lap, and dropped her hands away from Seifer's arms.

"Sorry," Fujin said, her voice a little rough, a little too weak.

Seifer rocked back on his heels and stood. "It's fine," he told her. She nodded slowly.

Too many years of this had prepared Seifer for the aftermath-- he snatched the plate of uneaten food and knelt down next to her again with it, avoiding the puddle of blood-colored wine on the floor. He pulled a chunk of meat off the bone and held it to her lips; Fujin rolled her eyes at him, but opened her mouth obediently, allowing him to repeat the process for three bites. She took the plate out of his hands, and stood, a bit unsteadily, making her way toward the window.

"Fuj—" Seifer began. "You should stay." The rest went unspoken— she _should_ stay. The princess should know about this. The lives of the royal family practically depended on it.

Fujin's leaving could make her a target for Ultimecia— who knew how many spies that woman had hiding in plain sight?

She paused, but for only a second, and then pulled free the latch. The window swung open, bringing with it a cool night breeze. She swung her legs over the sill. "Back in the morning," she promised, holding the plate close to her chest and hopping down to the ground. He heard a soft thud as she landed, and then heard nothing else. She moved so silently that it was as if she had vanished.

Seifer swore, and turned on his heel to seek out the princess, determined to rouse her out of her bed if he had to.

—

The argument was loud enough that it could be heard from the far end of the hall, and it didn't take much inner persuasion for Seifer to sidle up to the door to eavesdrop.

A man's voice, cold and harsh, burst out from the opening: "— just because you once romped in the proverbial hay with him does not allow enough basis to trust him with your life!"

_Leonhart. Excellent_. Seifer edged closer.

A woman's voice, sharp, colder than he had heard it be in a long while, responded, "If you weren't so blinded with your hatred of him..."

"Blinded? Me? Are we forgetting that he once tried, actively _tried,_ to have you and your family destroyed?" Something slammed from within the room, perhaps the door of an armoire.

"That was a long while ago, and that was, if you'll remember, under enchantment. He may be an, an ass, but the wardskeeper pronounced him clean of spells when he walked in the gate."

"The _wardskee_— Your Highness, please. If you value your life, you'll enlist the lord Auron like I had suggested. Which, I believe, you had misled all of us into thinking that you _had _enlisted him."

"I know Sir Auron as well as I know how to wield that contraption at your belt, Sir Leonhart. Almasy, I _know_, beyond enchantments and spells! That is a far sight better than entrusting my life to a perfect stranger!"

There was absolute silence, then Leonhart spoke again, his voice weary, his tone one of utter frustration.

"Fine, then. Do as you wish, Princess. But remember, Balamb is three days' travel from here. I will not be able to come rushing to your aid if he turns on you."

Footsteps, coming toward the door. Seifer grabbed the handle before Leonhart could, and pulled the door open. The knight stopped, one hand going to the heavy sword sheathed at his hip.

"Trouble, sire?" Seifer asked, the picture of innocence. "I heard a fuss."

"...Almasy," Leonhart said. "I should be surprised, and yet, I find myself not." He stepped forward, blocking Seifer from entering the room. "I am a fool to leave the princess in the hands of little more than the object of a schoolgirl infatuation, and if you allow harm to come to her, I will see you drawn and quartered myself."

Seifer snorted. "Duly noted. Mayhaps if you returned the dagger of mine you borrowed, I would be in a better position to defend her Highness."

Leonhart scowled, and opened a flat pouch at his belt. He withdrew the curved dagger, and hefted it in his hands. "It is a fine blade," he mused, and what happened next happened so quickly that when Seifer would later replay it in his mind's eye, he could come up with no way to stop it. The knight hurled the dagger nearly straight upward, where the blade lodged inches-deep into one of the high crossbeams.

Seifer rolled his eyes as the knight shoved past him.

Quistis' voice was quiet. "I'll have a servant retrieve that for you," she said, but her tone was not as apologetic as it once may have been. "His loyalties are torn, and I daresay I provoked him by inviting you here."

"You don't need to explain him to me, Princess," Seifer interrupted. "His nature is to make things entirely too complicated for himself. Anyway, I have something you need to know about."

It took Quistis a moment to return her attention to him; her distraction at Leonhart's disapproval was evident. "What is it?" she asked.

Seifer very deliberately declined to elaborate. A maid came out of one of the empty rooms, a bundle of dirty linens in her arms, pausing to curtsy awkwardly at the princess. Quistis inclined her head, and waited until the maid had disappeared down the hall.

"I assume you would like to speak somewhere more private, then," she said finally.

"That would be ideal, yes."

She regarded him for a long moment, and then swept off down the hall. Her dress had been swapped for a light cotton shift, a blue so pale it registered colorless in the dim hall lighting; when she moved, it was as if she were a ghost.

_...the still-beating heart of the last blood with claim to the throne..._


	4. the death of a brilliant star

_A/N: Heavily edited since initial posting. I slept on it and realized there were things I didn't really like, and an entire scene I'd managed to skip, and didn't catch on my edits and read-throughs. _

* * *

_**Four**: the death of a brilliant star_

It was the sound of screaming that woke him.

He jerked upright from the soft feather bed, scrabbling for his belt of daggers and fastening it around his waist as he ran from the room. The noise came from his left; _the king's quarters_, he realized. He ran, bare feet smacking against the smooth-polished floor, sliding around the corner so quickly he had to catch himself to stay upright.

He would have a word with the maids in the morning, if they all lived that long, of course.

Screaming, again, a woman's voice pitched in terror. A roar echoed in response, something huge, something powerful. In the distance, he could hear the metal clanking of armored boots; the King's Guard, en route to the chaos. They would not be fast enough, he knew, the feeling churning in his gut.

_He _might not be fast enough.

The door to the king's chamber had been flung open, and Seifer charged in, following the noises to their source- Quistis, in the corner of the room, backed in by a hulking beast. The princess held a thin sword in her hand, more ceremonial than effective; it was akin to poking a bear with an embroidery needle, Seifer knew. She had seconds, if that, before that thing plucked it from her grasp and tore her apart.

The first dagger whistled through the air, and buried itself in the flesh of the beast's shoulder, evoking a startled howl. It turned, and Quistis took the opportunity to scramble out from under its form, driving her sword into its chest. The monster let out a roar, and she let go of the hilt, not bothering to try to retrieve the weapon. The beast swiped at her, enormous claws catching her dress and shredding the thin fabric of her sleeve. She cried out, and from where he stood, Seifer could see thin lines of blood well up through the fabric.

"_Go_!" he shouted, and she fled, but not from the room, running for a tall dark cabinet and flinging it open. She yanked a sheathed sword from within, casting away the leather casing. This was no ceremonial weapon- this was glinting Estharian steel, wickedly sharp. It took her two hands to hold it upright, and the runes engraved in the blade shimmered in the candlelight.

Seifer ran for the beast, yanking another dagger from his belt. The beast charged, and Seifer dove under its paws, sliding across a pool of red that seemed to have sprung from nowhere. Blood. The overwhelming scent of it burned his nose. He drove the dagger up, into the armpit of the monster.

There was a commotion that he only dimly heard as the King's Guard finally entered, clanking in their steel.

_About time_, Seifer thought, and added his own shout to the mix. "Hold!" he cried, from beneath the belly of the beast.

The knights paused, feet away from the behemoth, swords held out before them defensively as they circled the monster, watching him struggle. He dragged his blade through the fur and stinking flesh of the behemoth, then tore the dagger loose, bringing with it a spray of blood.

Quistis was with them, her father's sword in her hands. She was too close- why wouldn't she _leave?_

Seifer grabbed a fistful of fur and hauled himself up onto the creature's back, grabbing at the front of its shoulder until he found the other dagger, ripping it out to the behemoth's howl. Blood arced across his hands, hot, burning where it struck. _Two inches lower..._

The behemoth flailed and screamed, pawing at its back to throw Seifer, but he held on with a white-knuckled grip, even as the monster dislodged his last dagger, sending it flying uselessly across the room.

"Seifer!" Quistis was there, beneath him, too close, and she flung the sword up as hard as she could. He lurched over the behemoth's shoulders, snatching it by the flat of the blade between his palms, just above the hilt. He moved his hand quickly, to safer purchase, and grabbed hold of the monster's fur again. It bucked more fiercely this time, very intent on sending him to the same fate as his dagger, away, useless, probably dead from the force of impact.

He raised the sword, then drove it down, the steel cleaving the behemoth's chest like cutting through warm butter until he heard the sound he had been waiting for. There was a sucking noise as it entered the heart of the beast, blood gushing from its chest, and Seifer shoved harder against the blade, forcing it further. He did _not_ expect what happened next.

The explosion sent him flying back into the wall, crashing against the thick-paneled walls near to the king's bed. The wood bent against his weight, but didn't snap, bouncing Seifer onto the marble floor, slick with gore and hunks of monster meat. The pain was shocking as it radiated up from his tailbone.

There was a stunned silence in the room as monster guts rained down around them. Quistis' voice broke it.

"The healers!" she cried, moving in his direction.

Seifer eased himself upright against the wall carefully, testing his hands and legs. He seemed more or less intact; most of the blood was the purple-tinged stuff of the monster he had slain. "I don't need them," he replied, moving to brush her away.

But she hadn't stooped by him, she had gone to the bed with its red sheets, to the figure still laying there, and Seifer realized that the sheets had not been that color before. No one made silk that crimson in Deling.

Quistis leaned over the king. "Father," she said, "_Father_!"

Seifer did not move from his spot, sitting in a pool of monster and regent blood, slowly processing the scene before him. There would be no need for healers; they would be too late.

_xx_

He had to give her credit- she had held together admirably throughout the hastily assembled royal funeral, and now, watching the king's corpse burn on the pyre, Seifer could see the control she was keeping etched into the lines of her face. She looked older, suddenly, aged overnight, her skin sallow against the black velvet of the gown she wore, her hair hidden beneath an delicately pinned veil of black lace.

The priestesses chanted as they circled the burning pyre, their words indistinguishable, their voices melding with one another until Seifer only heard one voice, not many. He hadn't been in a temple in ages; he had almost forgotten how the services were supposed to go, how the sisters of Hyne wove and danced, their blue-cloth robes translucent in the flickering lanterns.

The king's flesh filled the room with a faintly acrid odor; Seifer remembered this, from when his father passed. It was something that the priestesses did to the shroud around the body, an ancient enchantment that prevented death from stinking up holy ground. It had seemed magic at the time. It still did, even now that he knew the secret.

The songs and chants continued long into the night as the pyre burned. When they finally came to an end, the shrouded figure reduced to ashes and smoke, the princess stood— the Queen, now, Seifer would have to remember, although he didn't think he would ever get used to it, not until the official coronation— the small smattering of the royal court standing behind her. Seifer observed propriety; he walked behind the court until they had exited the temple, when he moved forward, until he was a few paces behind her. There were murmurs at his shift in position, his breach of etiquette. He was very good at ignoring them.

Quistis seemed to not even realize he was there, not until she stepped into the black-draped carriage, and he climbed in behind her, shutting the door with a thud that startled her.

"Oh," she said, her voice toneless. "Well met."

"Well met, indeed, Your Grace." Seifer leaned back against the cushioned seat and regarded her. "I am sorry. He was a good king," he said after a moment, because he felt the need to say _something_. The words seemed small and useless once he'd spoken them.

"He was an excellent king," Quistis replied. "And a wonderful father, and now he is dead. If you _must_ intrude on my grief, do it with something other than pithy platitudes, please, Almasy."

Something had been gnawing at him since the king's death, when he couldn't sleep, trying to figure out where he had seen that beast before.

"The behemoth, then," he said. "If that is less pithy to you."

She turned her attention from the view outside, although he very much doubted that she was actually seeing the city go by.

"It is Ultimecia's. I finally figured out where I had seen it before. I was there when she... when she created it," Seifer said, and inwardly cursed himself for the stumble.

There was a long silence.

"That was how you knew where to strike," she said finally, and it wasn't a question.

"Yes."

"Do you think she will try again?"

Seifer flexed his gloved hands against his thighs. "There is no doubt in my mind that she will come after you next."

Quistis nodded once, curtly, and resumed staring out the window.

_xx_

The coronation was a lavish affair, and a stark contrast to the king's funeral that had just transpired a week prior. There were, of course, the requisite black mourning bands across the arm of every man, and black sashes across the brightly colored gowns of every woman. They were a country in mourning, lest anyone forget that.

Seifer shifted, the newly-stitched blue and black doublet stifling in the heat radiating from the crush of people who had turned out to see the queen crowned. Quistis had ordered him outfitted in the royal house colors— if he was going to be her shadow for every minute of every day, he needed to look the part.

Her Majesty, Queen Quistis Trepe the Gentle, looked less drawn than she had a week ago, thanks to the touches of the court dresser. Her cheeks were faintly flushed, her golden hair braided up into an elaborate style upon her head, leaving a perfect nest for the heavy crown of office. Her gown was lavish, a pin-tucked peach and brown affair, the bodice laced tightly around her torso and the skirt tumbling down in layers of silk, an enormous train flowing down the small set of stairs in the throne room. The crisp black sash across her breast soured the image somewhat.

The high priestess lifted the ornate crown from its thick velvet pillow, held up by one of the other priestesses, and, to the fanfare of trumpets, lowered it upon the new queen's head, proclaiming her, by the will of Hyne, ruler of the great country of Galbadia, until the end of her days.

She rose to great applause, straight-backed and perfectly balanced as she climbed the last stair and seated herself upon the throne.

Seifer was so focused on making sure there were no assassins trying to slip into the crowd that he had largely ignored her first speech as queen, and nearly missed her next words.

"Seifer Almasy, come forward," she commanded.

He recovered himself nicely, or so he thought, stepping out of the shadows to kneel before her, years of attending the royal family unwilling to leave his bones, even after his long absence from her Guard.

She stood, and one of the King's Guard handed her a sword.

"You have demonstrated remarkable strength and skill in attempting to prevent the assassination of King Cid," she said. "Long have you been gone from my service, but today, I induct you back into the Queen's Guard of Galbadia, as a knight of the realm, sworn again henceforth into a lifelong service of the regents of this country, until the end of your days."

There was a sharp silence that fell over the crowd, followed by a flurry of murmurs— he could hear the name _Ultimecia_ being spoken again and again. The people would never accept this. Not after what he had done.

He started to open his mouth to speak, to object, but closed it just as quickly as she touched the sword to each of his shoulders in turn, sealing the commencement of knighthood. It felt like a weight had descended upon his shoulders, a weight he hadn't felt in a long while.

"Rise, Sir Almasy," she said finally, drawing the sword away. He looked up at her, and she smiled carefully at him— her royal smile, treating him like any other member of her court.

He stood, pressed his hand over his heart, and bowed.

"I accept," he said formally, and his own voice surprised him with the solemnity in his tone. "Your Majesty."


	5. chasms between

**Five**: chasms between

Across the narrow sea, Squall Leonhart rode through Balamb Town on a borrowed brown mare, dressed in a nondescript outfit and dark cloak, the hood drawn over his face. The horse moved at a sedate pace, picking its way through the narrow dirt road; the townsfolk largely ignored him, and he them.

Unlike the knight errant he had left to care for the princess, he knew how to be subtle.

His destination was a small estate just outside of town, a stone structure surrounded by carefully planted gardens, the products of long hours of solitude. No stable hand came to meet him at the gate, so Squall dismounted his horse outside the little stable and settled her into an empty stall with some fresh oats.

The sky was graying quickly; there would be a storm tonight, he knew. Slinging his saddle bags over his shoulder, he hurried to the main house.

When the lone servant led him into the sitting room, Edea was sitting in a high backed chair, plying a needle and thread, an embroidery hoop in her hand. Ellone stood by the window, her arms crossed, staring out at the sea.

"Hello," Squall said. The word seemed unnecessarily loud.

"Sir Leonhart, how kind of you to visit," Edea said, setting aside her work and getting up to greet him. She pressed a papery-soft kiss to his cheek. "You look well. Weary, though, but just a bit. They are feeding you at that palace, yes?"

He smiled faintly. "They are, m'lady."

"Good, good. I'm glad." She patted his arm and stepped back. "What news do you bring from Deling?"

"He brings only the reassurances of a failing king that we will soon be released from our prison by the sea," Ellone said, her voice soft, hard to hear against the breeze whistling in through the window.

"It's hardly a prison," Squall interjected.

"Dear brother, whatever they teach you in Deling City, it isn't how to lie." Ellone drifted away from the window, seating herself on one of the other chairs in the room.

"I have been trying, but Her Highness believes you are safer _here_-"

Ellone smiled, sadly. "We are not safe anywhere. Mayhaps in Centra, in the middle of the desert, but the red queen's reach is long, and we are not immortal."

His brow furrowed. "You shouldn't speak like that."

"Do the walls have ears?" Ellone waved her hand around her at the room. "Will the paintings talk with their brethren in the palace?"

"Ellone... please," Edea said. "Squall has traveled a long way. At least let him get off of his feet for a moment."

"No," Squall said, holding up a hand to silence her. "My sister has a point. I will take your concerns back to the princess."

Ellone smiled, but it was vacant of joy.

Edea took Squall's elbow then, leading him toward the doorway. "Come, then. She has been waiting for you."

_xx_

Fujin had slipped in through the window again, and was waiting for him when he returned from the bathhouse that evening.

"Congratulations," she said, as he dropped onto the edge of the bed. Standing guard while the festivities that followed the coronation dragged on and on. While she greeted hundreds and hundreds of people, every one of whom which could be a puppet of Ultimecia's, another assassin sent to finish off the last of the royal line.

Fujin slipped her arms around him, resting her chin on his shoulder. It had been too long since he had seen her, he realized; since the murder of King Cid, security had been too high for her to slip through.

"Nice fete," she added.

"You were there?"

She nodded, her cheek soft against his neck.

He turned to face her. "Do you bring news?" he asked, finally.

"No. Pictures, though. Inexplicable. Vague. A ship, a dove."

"The witch?"

"Always the witch." She kissed him, then, carefully. It was a distraction, Seifer knew, and always, always, he would give into it.

_xx_

The knock on his door woke him a handful of hours later. The creak of the hinges as it opened had him up and withdrawing the knife he kept under his pillow.

"I see you found some company."

It took Seifer a second to place the stranger entering into his room, a scarred old man with a streak of gray in his hair. Sir Auron, the famed Spiran knight from across seas-beyond-seas.

"May I assist you in some capacity?" Seifer asked, lowering his blade. Beside him, Fujin stirred and rolled over, drawing the coverlet up over her bare shoulders.

"Her Majesty wishes to speak to you," Auron said. "And the seer."

The lie was half out of his mouth before he really had to think about it. "She's merely a bed—"

Auron chuckled. "Do not mistake me for a fool, boy. Her Majesty may have overlooked your faults when she inducted you back into the Guard, but that does not mean the rest of us will be so easily swayed. She is your seer, not some whore you picked up at the festivities."

"Do not call me 'boy'," Seifer snapped.

"So impetuous," Auron replied. "She will meet you in the garden in ten minutes, no later." He turned, then, the red cape fastened at his shoulders a streak of crimson with the movement. "You may want to think about putting on pants. Smallclothes, at least."

_xx_

She was waiting for him at the edge of the shore, wrapped in a pale blue cloak that whipped around her in the sea breeze. For a moment, he had a memory of wings, brilliant white, but the picture was gone just as quickly. Squall paced himself as he walked to her, his boots sinking in the sand.

"I was worried," she said gently. "It is only three days' journey, and it took you nigh a week."

"The captain's business took longer than intended," Squall apologized. "I am sorry."

Rinoa turned to him. "I was worried you weren't coming, after all."

"I promised, didn't I?"

She flung her arms around his neck, and he drew her close, resting his cheek upon her soft hair.

"I missed you," Rinoa said. "I missed you, I missed you,_ I missed you_."

"And I you," he murmured, feeling a fool, like every terrible love song the bards had ever sung. He would have her freed from this place if it meant the end of the world to accomplish it.

_xx_

"I was growing concerned that you were planning on keeping her a secret from us," Quistis said without preamble as Seifer and Fujin entered the garden, well within the ten minutes' time that the queen had required. "You do know it is very difficult to keep secrets in this place?"

"My apologies," Seifer said.

"I hear tell she dreams truly," Quistis said, approaching Fujin, a shallow crease appearing as she furrowed her brow. "What eye do you see with, seer?" she asked Fujin. It was not an insult about her wound, and Fujin did not take it as such. Seers were rare, yes, but not completely uncommon- the palace had several.

"One truth," Fujin said. "One eye." She didn't even have the grace to look embarrassed. "Your Majesty."

"No orders from Ultimecia, guised as prophecy? I have heard rumors that you've seen such things before."

Seifer interjected. "She has seen nothing of importance to us now."

"But she has _seen_ something?" The queen turned her attention on Seifer. She did not appear angry, but he knew her too well. Something was bothering her, probably something more than whom he chose to share his bed with.

He tried to remember what Fujin had told him last night, and could only come up with the vision she had seen just before King Cid's murder._ Knights and sorceresses and the red queen in her tower..._

"_The Sisters gather in a place of darkness— the red queen holds the still beating heart of the last blood with claim to the throne. The world ends in fire, and the knights kneel at her feet._" Fujin repeated the prophecy that she had spoken earlier- Seifer noted that she had very helpfully removed the part about the king's death from the beginning of it.

There was a long silence. Fujin didn't even have the grace to look embarrassed about turning traitor on Seifer by revealing his falsehood.

The queen paled a little. "Is that- is that all?"

"A ship and a dove," Fujin added. "Travel, messages. Good news on white wings."

"And ill news on black." Quistis finished the old adage with a frown. "The captain of my guard has traveled across the sea, but we have had no doves," she murmured. "Seer, you will take up residence in the palace. I do not care _where_-" she deliberately did not look in the direction of the knight- "but I wish to keep you near, in the event you get further clarity on this vision."

"But-"

"Sir Almasy, I did not give you your title back so you could argue with me. She stays. You may bring that oaf of a man up from your house as a squire, if you wish. Hyne knows we could use an extra pair of hands."

"As you wish," he said neutrally. "Is that all?"

The queen nodded. "I will be meeting with representatives from Timber all day, along with Sir Auron. Take the day to get your affairs in order, but return to the palace by the dinner hour."

He inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Very well, Your Grace."

She dismissed them, and they left, making it back to his quarters and closing the door before either dared to speak again.

"Fuj—"

She put a finger to her lips and closed her eyes, speaking a sweet, ringing sentence that every smart child knew by the time they were thirteen, and at the very top left corner of the window, a small sigil glowed orange.

"Damn!" he swore. Someone had planted a listening charm in his room, likely one of the queen's spies. That was how she knew about the vision before— he was stunned that she hadn't ordered them executed for holding the information from her. Knowing the queen as he did, however, meant that she definitely had a motive for keeping them close to her.

The vision had been vague, indeterminate. Not even a prophecy. There was no date of attack, no knights named, and the Sisters had been trapped on the other side of the sea for so long, they no longer counted as a threat.

Fujin took a stick of mage-chalk from her bag and altered the drawn rune, adding a line here and a cluster of stars there. When she was done, it glowed a duller orange; her attempts had turned it from a listening charm to a visitor alarm. They would know if someone entered.

In annoyance, Seifer threw his cloak around his shoulders and affixed his money purse to his belt. "Let's go," he said, and Fujin scrambled down from the window ledge, tucking away the stick of chalk and slinging her satchel across her body.

Seifer had been back in the palace for all of a dozen days, and he was already very weary of the intrigue and secrecy that came with the territory.

_xx_

"He could not have stopped your father's murder, you know that, right? Not even our seers predicted it, and they are much stronger than that girl, much more adept."

"I know." Quistis silently ordered her fists to relax, and her hands unclenched. "It does not help his standing to keep secrets from me, though."

"He is always going to keep secrets from you, no matter how small. That is his nature- he was born with a dagger in one hand and secrets in his heart."

"Still..."

Her spymaster fingered the petal of a nearby flower, and when she withdrew her hand, it had left a streak of yellow pollen across her thumb. "If the witch moves, we will know."

"We had better," Quistis said, looking up at the edge of the courtyard wall. Clouds were rolling in from over the plains, turning the sky a dark grey.

"Trust me," Xu assured her, and Quistis knew she had little choice— Xu had eyes in every corner of Galbadia, and a storm was brewing.


End file.
